


Living Nightmare

by nerdpersonKT



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lowercase, Non-Linear Narrative, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, phil isn't have the best time atm, please let me know if anything else needs to be tagged, this is after phil killed wilbur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdpersonKT/pseuds/nerdpersonKT
Summary: philza is haunted by the ghost of his son, living in the blade that killed him. wil urges him to harm others, but little does phil know: this is not his son.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. wilbur

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this will be where im posting my ramblings about the au i made. ive dubbed it the cursed blade au!  
> since this au originally started on tumblr, some of the snippets are much shorter than the others.  
> if you have any questions, you can find me on tumblr @nerdpersonkt.

he's just so tired, so scared; he watched the darkness creep in, watched as it entranced his father.

watched as it took his place; he can never leave the sword, but that entity follows phil, follows him everywhere. constantly whispering in his ears, constantly whispers in his voice.

wilbur watches as the entity takes his place and can do nothing about it; he has no corporeal form, no way to interact with the world surrounding him. only a god could see him and there are no gods to be found.


	2. dream

dream, able to think clearly for the first time in months, is trying to get his head on straight; he's unavailable unless for real emergencies. 

no one was there to notice phil spiralling, not even the one who'd recognize the symptoms, the one who'd had them for months.

no one was there to notice that phil never seemed really present, never really there; trapped in a reality where his son lived on, where his son urged him to do increasingly destructive things.

urged him to 'finish what wilbur had started,' to fulfil the last wishes of his dying son. dream was not there to see the twisted reflection of himself untill it was almost too late, until phil almost destroyed himself.


	3. philza | the entity

it starts off slow; barely there murmurs whispering in his ears, just enough to hear. 

they were able to just be written off as the wind or as a cave noise, until they formed words. until those murmurs turned into whispers, until they sounded like his son. oh gods his son, blood that would never be able to be washed off his hands, blood that he'd never forgive himself for. 

he listened to those soft croons like a drowned man gasping for air, like a starved animal stalking its prey. he listened like a father to his son, like an executioner to dying wishes. he heard his son again, the one he'd thought lost forever; the one he'd never forget. 

he savored them, holding onto that sword for hours just for a chance of a word. he panicked when he noticed the whispers fading, when he thought he lost his son again. he tried everything he could think of: nothing worked, nothing but blood. 

it was accidental; he'd cut himself cradling the sword closer to his chest. he'd nearly sobbed with the rush of relief he felt at the explosion of whispers, laughing instead, half mad. 

he was so overwhelmed, he didn't notice that the voices no longer sounded like wilbur. didn't sound like his son. it was nothing but an amalgamation of all his memories of wilbur living. it held childhood's nostalgia in the cry of dad!, adolescence in the tired thank you, and the spiral of adulthood in the mad ramblings in his ear. the noise covered his son's screams, the sound of his anguish as he accepted this imposter. 

phil had always held a fondness for carnage, for the beauty of destruction. but now, with the deafening whispers he so cherishes, he longs for blood. 

* * *

( _they crept in slowly, sensing the fractures growing in the mind of someone powerful._

_someone with the ability to stop their plans in their tracks, someone able to stop the bloodshed with the call of a name._

_so, they intervened. binding a soul, cursing a blade, causing an addiction. it didn't go to plan though, nothing does._

_the soul tried to pass on, content that his family would be safe. that wouldn't do. that wouldn't do at all._

_they trapped him, taking his form, taking his voice. becoming the whisper in the ear of someone they learned held far more power than they thought. becoming the chant for blood in the ears of a far older god._

_oh this will do quite nicely. quite nicely indeed._ )


	4. philza | the entity | the others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter deals with phil spiralling and having brief suicidal thoughts. be careful when reading folks!

it never felt like the blood dried.

he'd look down at his hands, slick with blood, explosions ringing in his ears, withering wheezes echoing throughout the battlefield. and then he'd blink.

and suddenly all he could hear was the gentle drip, drip, drip of blood off of his sword. his hands were still covered in it.

why were they still covered in it, why were they there, why did he live on while his son died in his arms, hands drenched in red. why, why, why. why was he still alive? why? did he live only to suffer, only to destroy what he loved? he killed his son! oh gods his sons. where are his sons? what happened to them? is techno okay? did tommy survive? did cla-

he doubled over in pain. a sharp noise driving nails into his head. what was he thinking about?

he looked at his red, red hands and laughed. hysterical and mad, belly deep and halfway to sobbing. he thought about nothing more than his son, trapped in the sword he wields and keeping him alive.

the blood keeps him alive. they have so much; would they mind sharing? it was but a small donation to keep his son alive. a small donation taken and sealed with the swing of a blade.

* * *

( _oh this was far better than they ever imagined._

_manipulating this angel of death's thoughts was far harder than that of the young god. a certain, subtle touch had to be used. he'd have to come to the conclusion all on his own, just with a little push in the right direction._

_a small variation here, a inserted memory there; everything was set up for the old god to work right into their plans. and it went beautifully._

_he was desperate to keep his son alive, his son with whispers of blood and gore; his son with the whisper of do it for me dad._

_all the easier to manipulate, this force of nature that he is, with the grief never consoled_.)

* * *

( ~~the others never noticed phil disappearing; he isolated himself after that day, never lingering, never connecting.~~

~~the only ones that could have spotted his s~~ ~~piral, the ones that knew him the best, his sons? well they were out of the picture.~~

~~exiled, retirement, recovery?~~

~~they were never there.~~

~~and so phil was entangled into a web of manipulation and possession. he was a fly in the web of this entity; noticing too late the trap he'd flown into. noticing too late that things didn't line up, too late that he was played.~~

~~won't you come into my parlor? said the spider to the fly, and the fly entered.~~

~~and so remained this pair, parasitic, until the circumstances were changed. until his sons noticed, until their hands dismantled the spider's parlor to the ground~~.)


	5. the entity

( _they first noticed the rush of power._

_lurking in the back of their host's mind while he watches the podium, watches trust shatter, they notice a build up of pressure. pushing against the shields surrounding this word, it went fast and hard._

_breaking the protections like it meant nothing, fixing them like it meant nothing. the others only noticed the power after the nation exploded, after they set their eyes upon a god._

_their host startled, staring at the man he didn't allow into his world, at the man who appeared anyway. they startled alongside the others as a mad man, a pained individual, a son was killed; the immediate weakening of the man's, the killer's fortitude was obvious, to them._

_oh this could prove useful. oh this could prove useful indeed; feeling their host's emotions swell and them be repressed in a practiced movement._

_moreuseful than he, even._ )


	6. philza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has a reference to self harm. be safe, folks!

the whispers had stopped.

phil searched desperately for a solution, hope dying in his heart as nothing worked. he whined, high in his throat, tears threatening to spill. he cradled the sword to his chest, holding as if it were his son himself, not just the spirit of him. 

phil cut himself on the blade and it burned, fire aspect enchantment cauterizing the wound as it drew blood. 

the breath left his body as he heard a cacophony of whispers explode into sound at the presence of blood. they became deafening for a moment, drowning out all of the sounds around phil, drowning out the sound of his son's scream. 

they coalesced into a single sound, a single voice. 'dad,' it said, grateful and loving, 'thank you.' and so philza was lost, desperate to keep hold of the son he thought lost twice. 

* * *

at first he tried to feed the blade with his own blood. hoping that the family connection would help, hoping he didn't have to spill anymore blood, hoping no one else would stain his hands red. 

but when he held the blade to his skin, ready to cut, ready to bleed, the voice cried out. low and mournful, panicked and pleading. 

wilbur cried, 'don't!' sounding as clear as he ever had alive, more himself than any of the other murmurs ever had. phil stopped dead, blade clattering to the ground. 

'wil?' he whispered. 'it's okay, i won't do it. it'll be okay, son.' 

he tried monster blood next. it was but a temporary fix; satisfying the spirit but not for long, growing quiet and panicked far too soon. 

finally, phil tried other players. walking up behind them, unassuming, harmless, he stuck the sword through their back. pulling it out, he dealt the killing blow, reveling it the whispers growing louder with praise. he ignores the blood on his hands, ignores how much it felt like killing wilbur.

* * *

(wilbur had to be struck twice by his father, run through with the blade twice. 

the initial wound had cauterized; wil would have survived if he'd gotten medical attention. but he wanted to die, pleading to phil to kill him, to put him out of his misery.

and so phil did, killing his son. 

phil had no way of knowing that wil wouldn't respawn like anyone else would, had no way of knowing that that strike would be the last time phil saw his son alive. 

the guilt eats him alive. 

his hands still seem stained to him, sometimes, when he sees them out of the corner of his eye. stained from when he'd tried to revive wil, when blood pooled on the ground as he tried to save him, when it hadn't sunk in yet. 

he had killed his son, and he'll kill many more to keep his son's spirit alive.)


End file.
